RUSTY

The goblin tribe descended upon the gang's den from every corner of Midden. They erected ramshackle tents and crude, disposable structures, transforming the desolate mounds into a bustling village. Laughter and shouts filled the air as the goblins worked together, each contributing in their own way to the preparations for the upcoming ceremony.

Amid the work stood Grik, his monocle gleaming as he watched over the proceedings with a keen eye. He was a stickler for tradition, ensuring that no detail would be overlooked. As he moved among the goblins, inspecting the ceremonial artifacts with practiced care, the pride he took in his role stood out to Rusty more than anything else.

"More ribbons on the staff," Grik called, pointing towards a goblin who held a driftwood section adorned with a meager assortment of colorful rags. “It needs to be…three times that ribbony!”

The offending goblin nodded eagerly and scurried away to find more decorations, leaving Grik to survey the rest of the preparations. A howl sounded in the distance, causing him and many of the others to pause in their activity, but the Junkmaster’s hound was far away, and it never attacked goblins in large groups, preferring to hunt lone victims who had wandered away from the tribe.

"Are you certain we have enough food?" Grik asked Nada and Yumi, the young pair who were busy arranging a large table laden with an assortment of wild roots and scavenged delicacies.

"Yessir, Grik, sir,” Nada replied, saluting.

"Good," Grik said, nodding his approval. "There needs to be enough for every pledge to have their share."

As the preparations continued, the atmosphere grew increasingly festive. The goblins chattered excitedly about the impending coronation, speculating on what changes Chul would bring to their tribe. A storm cloud inched ever closer from the waters beyond Harborfell, promising rain, but its presence did nothing to dampen the mood.

Rusty and Chul were nearby, waiting just outside the den. The little dragon was resting, his body still sore from the melee, while Chul paced back and forth with nervous energy. Rusty could feel his companion’s increasing anxiety, a tight ball in the back of his head, but he didn’t share it. The hard part was over. They had faced death, and by some miracle, survived. Now was the time to recover and enjoy the fruits of their success.

"Chul, come here," Grik called, motioning the young goblin over with an outstretched hand. "You need to rehearse."

Chul approached Grik unwillingly, looking as if he was being pulled forward by a string attached to his navel. The elder goblin held an elaborate sash, brighter and more decorated than his own, woven with a variety of colorful textiles and small trinkets that jingled softly as he draped it across Chul's narrow shoulders, who shuffled his feet impatiently under the burden.

"Repeat after me," Grik said sternly.

"I, Chul, do solemnly swear on the sacred rust and relics of Midden, to guide and to guard my tribe as the sovereign of the scrapheap. Before the eyes of our ancestors and the Great Mother, I vow on my life to serve the tribe as its Great Goblin and accept the pledges of its people as they are meant, an exchange of service for service, duty for duty, as long as they will have me.”

"I... I, Chul, do somberly...um, swear to lead... and protect... Midden tribe through strong... and wise? Scrapheap, uh. Accept the pledges. Responsibility." Chul tugged nervously on his hat. “Was that about right?”

"Close enough," Grik sighed, “for your seventh attempt,” adjusting the sash so it sat more comfortably on Chul's frame. "Just remember, speak clearly and with confidence."

As night fell and the storm loomed, a large fire roared to life at the center of the newborn village, casting flickering shadows upon the gathered goblins. Some had painted their bodies or tacked on feathers to their outfits to mark the occasion. At the heart of the celebration stood the Rotten Throne, which had been strenuously ported across the junkyard for the ceremony. Its armrests were whalebone, engraved with goblin markings, and its back had once been a ship’s wheel, the spokes splaying out like a starburst behind whoever took the seat.

Rusty nudged Chul with his nose to get him to approach the chair, and Chul reluctantly took his place before the relic, under the eager gazes of the Midden Tribe. The gang was in the crowd, as Grik had advised them to avoid the appearance that it was anyone other than Chul who was being elevated. Rusty had agreed with the decision. He didn’t want Jiho trying to make it look like he was going to really be in charge when Chul was the Great Goblin, and that wouldn’t have gone over well with the tribe, either.

He saw Seok and Sooji among the sea of green faces, her hair making them easy to spot, but neither Jiho nor Jiwoo was with them. Chul was apprehensive, but he took encouragement from Rusty’s presence, and Grik was waiting for them by the throne.

"Here," Grik said, handing Chul his staff. The lantern set atop it held a warm glow, though there was no fire captured within. "Take this and recite the oath."

“What about the other staff?” Chul asked warily.

“Eh,” the old goblin said, “not enough ribbons.”

Chul's grip on the staff was uncertain, his fingers trembling as they wrapped around its rough surface. He drew a shaky breath, struggling to recall the words he had practiced with Grik.

"I... Chul... do somberly swear... to lead..."

“Not yet,” Grik stopped him. “I make the announcement first, then you address the people.” There was no hint of the adversarial attitude the old goblin had taken before the trials, and Rusty wondered what had caused the sudden change. It was one thing to accept that Chul had won, Grik could have begrudged him the victory, or voiced doubts about his fitness for the position; instead, as soon as the trials had finished, Grik had taken on the role of a kindly mentor. It was as if he no longer thought of Chul as a member of the Gang of Fools at all, but a completely different goblin.

He turned to address the crowd.

“Brethren of metal and marrow, gather close under the eye of the Great Mother. Yesterday, we were broken. Today, we are made anew. The Midden Tribe is not a place, this one will do. The Tribe is not a goblin, this one will do. We live as we have always done, sharing food, sharing stories, sharing strength. Tonight, we give our strength to the new Great Goblin. Let the brokenness be forgotten, and he will give us back that strength in kind. Let him speak his oath, and the tribe will answer. Does anyone say nay?”

Rusty looked out over the tribe, the hundreds who had gathered to watch the trials, even the families from far corners, and the champions that remained. Heavyarm was among them, and Froglick, as were others who had not been consumed by Sparkfizz’s spells. There were still goblins that had not come, or who had left after the candidate they supported lost out. Midden had never had a leader to unite every goblin within its walls, but there were still more goblins than Rusty had ever expected to see in one place, or even imagined could live in a single junkyard, no matter how large. Not a single voice was raised against Chul.

“Ah,” Chul said, “hum.”

“Speak up!” Someone yelled, and others laughed. There was no malice in it. These goblins had heard Chul speak before, and likely because of the success of his previous speech, they seemed to look on his hesitance with fondness rather than contempt.

Rusty nudged Chul again.

“You’re here,” he said. “I’m here with you. You might as well say the words.”

Chul cleared his throat, and put one hand over Rusty’s head, as if leaning on him for support.

“I, Chul…Chul’s my name. I swear on the rusty relics to be a good leader. The Great Mother knows I mean it. You can ask her. And I don’t want your pledges for nothing. I could go on without them. I could go on with them. I uh, I want to give you something back, for what you give me. You deserve it. You deserve it, good gobbos, and I want to give it to you. I’ll do my best, okay?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

It wasn’t at all the oath that Grik had given him, but the goblins didn’t seem to mind. A cheer went up, and chants of both their names. Rusty heard the words ‘scaly dog,’ and ‘dragon goblins,’ thrown about. The crowd came forward to give their pledges, one by one, and the process took most of the night. Many of them had words to give them, and questions to ask, and Chul did his best to respond. Most of them brought gifts as well, offerings to the new Great Goblin and his companion. The Gang wasn’t the only family in Midden that tended to collect odds and ends from the scrapheaps, it appeared to be a trait common to the race.

Chul directed everyone who brought a gift to place it by Rusty, who was soon overcome with appreciation for his growing mound of treasures. A broken tile that had once been a part of a mosaic, a tarnished key, and a glass marble, were soon lost beneath a never-ending parade of gifts. They brought him fabrics, sections of old quilts, scraps of cherished silk, waterlogged books, and broken dolls. And of course, there were shells, great heaps of shells, of all colors and shapes; conch, scallop, oyster and clam, and many other varieties whose origins Rusty could not guess. All of it called to him, every piece glowing with warmth and worth to his material sense.

Jiho appeared as well, taking part in the ceremony, giving his congratulations to Chul and a well-cared for hand mirror to Rusty. He wore a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and he didn’t give a formal pledge, but he went on his way without trying to steal the spotlight. Throughout the night, Rusty heard the soft chimes of [System] notifications coming from Chul, though his friend never stopped to check his screens.

The goblins did not disappear into the junkyard after they had their turns. This was the new home of the Midden Tribe, centered on the gang’s den. The tribe had moved before, and it would move again. One place in Midden was as good as any other. All around them, goblins were celebrating with dances and songs, and every goblin that offered their pledge went away with something from the long table of food that Grik had supplied. It emptied quickly, only to be refilled by his followers. It was hardly the feast of a king, being an array of rotten fruit and roots and mushrooms that the goblins grew themselves in the hollows left by junk worms, but no one seemed unsatisfied by what was on offer, or took more than a handful for themselves.

Chul never took his seat on the throne, standing throughout the long procession with Rusty at his side. His anxiety faded, replaced by a mixture of awe and gratitude for the response he was getting from the tribe. The discomfort returned, however, during several interactions for which Chul proved to be completely unprepared.

“Have you taken any wives?” A goblin matron asked him. She was stout, with layers of chunky necklaces dangling from her robust neck, their trinkets clinking with her every move. Her daughter stood beside her, pink haired and delicate, with shy eyes that darted everywhere but Chul's face.

“My daughter is here with me. She is exquisite, as you can see.” The matron pressed close. “She would bear you many children.”

She pulled the girl forward by the wrist, her broad grin revealing a set of irregular teeth. Chul looked between them, his face morphing into a rictus, his mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to chew on his response.

"Th-thank you,” he finally stuttered, “but, uh, I-I'm not really, um, looking..."

The matron waved away his protests with a flamboyant flick of her wrist, her laughter hearty and somewhat overpowering. "Oh, come now, don't be shy! My daughter is a blossoming flower, ripe for plucking! Aren't you, my little bud?"

The daughter's eyes widened at her mother's words, her blush deepening. She wrung her hands, her voice barely more than a whisper, "Mama, please..."

Chul glanced at Rusty, his eyes screaming for help. The matron leaned in closer, her breath warm and carrying the scent of fermented berries. "Think of the strong, handsome children you'd have, Chul. And the alliance it would create, uniting our families..."

“What’s your name?” Rusty asked the girl, and both women startled.

“Kkot,” the girl said, in a soft voice.

Rusty looked up at his friend. “She seems alright,” he said.

Chul looked at Rusty like he was a traitor, then cleared his throat, trying desperately to regain some semblance of control over the conversation. "I-I appreciate your, um, offer, really. B-but I think I need to, uh, focus on leading the tribe right now, and, um, perhaps in the future...?" His voice trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air.

The matron huffed, her demeanor changing as she realized she was being rebuffed. She gave her daughter a consoling pat on the back, shooting Chul a disapproving glance. "Well, don't wait too long, young one. Opportunities like this don't come every day, you know."

With that, she turned, her daughter following meekly behind, her eyes lingering on Chul for a moment longer before turning away.

It was, by far, the easiest encounter of the sort they had that night. Chul was introduced to many daughters and sisters, as seemed to be the custom, but the most brazen propositions came from the women who were speaking for themselves. Chul received no less than a dozen offers of amorous liaisons from goblin women who were not in the least shy about displaying their available assets.

"My pledge is yours," purred one, her curves accentuated by a garment that appeared to be made up of more holes than actual fabric. She sashayed forward, her eyes locked onto Chul with an intensity that made him take an involuntary step back. Dangling earrings clinked with her every step, and her abundant bosom threatened to break free with every exaggerated breath she took. "And more than my pledge."

Chul blinked, struggling to keep his eyes level with hers. "Uh, well, I appreciate it. Uh, the pledge. That’s all I need," he stammered, his eyes darting towards Rusty for an escape route.

The would-be temptress would not be so easily dissuaded. She closed the distance between them, her hand reaching out to playfully caress Chul's cheek. "You know, I haven’t found a den here yet. Would you mind sharing yours with me for the night?"

Chul reacted in much the same fashion as if Sparkfizz had risen again to lob a fireball. He dodged to one side, nearly tripping over Rusty’s tail as he went, and leapt behind the throne, peeking up from between its spokes a moment later to see if the danger had passed.

The woman gasped in affected shock, muttering curses under her breath as Grik allowed other pledges to approach.

"Rusty," Chul whispered from behind the throne. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Of course, you can," Rusty reassured him, suppressing an urge to laugh. “You’re the Great Goblin.”

The celebration lasted until dawn, and as the crowd around Chul diminished, his family joined him. They quickly realized the difficulty he was having, and each contributed in their own way.

“Don’t worry,” Sooji told him, “If any goblin hussy catches you between her legs, I’ll give them a good thumping.”

Seok was more than happy to intercept any female that showed the slightest interest in giving Chul his first heir. He met their advances with propositions of his own, flexing and shaking his bare bottom, demanding that they pay homage to his manly physique before even thinking of being worthy of the Great Goblin.

“I’ll test them out for you,” he said, “no problem. Leave it to me. Only the best for my buddy.”

Jiho was in a sour mood and retreated to the den well before the night was finished. His grandfather, on the other hand, threw himself into the festivities with gusto. Jiwoo could be seen making the rounds of the cookfires, stuffing his face, brandishing his belly, and generally making a fool of himself.

As the pledges thinned out, Rusty began to feel uneasy. It hadn’t been that long since the human raid, and though the election was only taking place because of that event, the goblins seemed to have forgotten it. The tribe didn’t seem to do anything to mask its presence in the junkyard, not now, and not during the trials. It was as if the ever-present threat of a new massacre didn’t burden them at all, and he couldn’t understand why that was.

This was their way of life, to dance and sing and scavenge, quarreling among themselves, though they could lose their lives at any moment. Jiho had said that there was always a period of peace between the raids, that the humans never sought to wipe them out entirely. In its own way, that was more horrible. They were being farmed.

“Grik,” he asked the old goblin in a moment of quiet, “how did the goblins come to be in Midden?”

Grik frowned. “This is a night of celebration, and that is not a happy tale.”

Rusty sat on his haunches, his tail flicking in agitation.

“I would still like to know.”

The old goblin sighed. “You have heard of Ailond?”

“Yes, but all I know is that it’s the goblin homeland.”

“That it is. The great swamp, where our kind was born. I have never seen it for myself, nor has any goblin of Midden, but we remember. We lived free in Ailond, as goblins still do. But the humans came in their flying ships across the Barathrum to raid our home and brought captured families back with them. Every goblin of Midden descends from one of those they took. It was so long ago; I could not tell you the years.”

“Has anyone ever tried to go back?”

Grik’s face tightened. “It’s best not to speak of such things. Chul is the Great Goblin now, but he is still young, as you are young, and impressionable. Don’t stir up thoughts like that. They are dangerous for all of us. Ask Jiwoo if you must. He knows better than most the consequences of thinking wrong thoughts.”

The answer didn’t satisfy Rusty, but Grik would share no more with him. He kept his dissatisfaction to himself for the moment, however, as Jiwoo was lost to revelry, and he didn’t want to upset Chul when everything was going so well for him.

The new Great Goblin was sharing a drink with Sooji, listening to the songs that drifted across the camp, his straw hat shading most of his face. Rusty knew that it would be dangerous to try to change the way things were, but he couldn’t believe that there wasn’t a way. Elswyre was one island among many, and the humans could not control everything. With Chul as the Great Goblin, his life would be just as much at risk as Toogi’s had been, and Rusty would not be contented to simply live and try to forget the threat that lurked behind each favorable moment. He was already trying to forget enough already. This was his world, his family, his tribe because he was choosing them. They deserved more, just as Chul had said. The goblin people deserved more, and he would give it to them.